Masquerade
by MChristopher
Summary: Tired of being pushed around by bullies, Taylor Hebert sets out to solve her problem by pretending to be a cape. Unfortunately for Brockton Bay, she isn't the type to back down when complications arise... [AU, Taylor doesn't trigger]
1. Chapter 1

The weeks leading up to the locker had been calm, and though I'd known that Emma and Sophia would never stop tormenting me completely, I'd started to hope that the way the insults and attacks were tapering off was a sign that they'd been getting bored.

That hope had lent a certain spring to my step, though never where my tormentors could see me. There were still minor insults, still pushes and shoves, but they were no longer sabotaging my grades or destroying my homework.

And, of course, Emma was still a bitch. A betrayer. But she'd started to act as if I didn't matter, as if hurting me was below her. I didn't mind; honestly, by the time the winter holidays had come and gone, I was more than satisfied with the new status quo.

As much as I tried to ignore it, however, a part of me knew that there had to be something coming.

Emma and I had been friends for years, and even if I couldn't understand why she decided to treat me this way, in many ways I still knew her. I still knew how she thought. And Emma Barnes always liked to end things with a flourish.

The day we returned to school from winter break I knew it was coming: my tormentors weren't trying to be subtle, the way that they'd been looking at me and giggling... but when I opened the locker they'd so thoroughly defiled, my first thought (after disgust) was relief.

This was the other shoe I'd been waiting for, the attack I knew was coming. And even after one of them shoved me inside and closed the door, a part of me felt triumph.

This was it. This was the worst thing they could possibly do to me.

Shaking with sickness, nearly passed out from the stench in that horrible cramped space, it was that thought which kept me sane. If I could survive this, and I could, then there was no further way they could hurt me.

I wasn't expecting to be trapped for so long, however. It was a few hours before one of the school janitors noticed the stench and let me out. By that time I was nearly catatonic, and the school was worried enough about my lack of response that they called the paramedics.

It was nearly a week of recovery, of tests, of dealing with the minor infections that three hours breathing all that rot had resulted in, but once I walked out the door of that hospital I felt a sense of freedom. I wasn't happy, no; I was humiliated, and I still had two weeks of antibiotics to take before this raspy cough would clear up... but I was free.

All that had led me here. It was my first day back, it was lunchtime, and I was stupid enough to have decided to eat in the cafeteria. My previously empty lunch table suddenly had three unwanted occupants- Sophia, Madison, and Emma. My tormentors.

"We're so glad you're back from the hospital, Taylor," Sophia gave me a self-satisfied smile. "School just isn't the same without you."

I just hunched my shoulders and picked at my food. This was nothing. I could handle this.

"So quiet! Are you feeling alright?" Emma faked concern. "Maybe you should have stayed a little longer just in case."

"The whole school heard about what happened," Madison added. "We're all glad you weren't seriously hurt."

Not hurt. Right. This doesn't hurt. This is fine. I looked down and nodded, knowing not to speak.

Sophia reached out and knocked my drink over, causing iced tea to spill all over my food.

"Oh, you poor thing," Emma exclaimed. "It looks like you're still feeling a little shaky. You should be more careful!"

I said nothing. I didn't move. Part of me was certain I couldn't. I shouldn't have been surprised that even hospitalizing me wasn't enough to stop this, but I was.

"Please," I mumbled. "Stop."

"Let me get that for you." Sophia said as she leaned forward and used a handful of napkins to push the puddle of tea and my former lunch into my lap.

"We're just trying to help you, Taylor." Emma cooed.

"That's right." Sophia affirmed. "We're just reminding you of exactly where you belong," She gestured vaguely at me. "You should probably take that to the trash."

She wasn't talking about the pile of muck in my lap. I sat, humiliated once more, as the three sadists giggled and walked away.

Everything came crashing down on me at once, as my vague hopes for a better school year crumbled. I mechanically stood, carefully mopping up as much of the mess and leaving the cafeteria.

"Oh, look!" I heard Emma say to one of the group's hangers-on. "It looks like Taylor's wet herself!"

I managed to hold back my tears of anger and frustration until I made it to the nearby bathroom.

I wasn't free. It still hurt. They weren't going to stop. They had to stop. They weren't going to stop.

I did my best to to pull myself back together while I dried off my clothes under the hand-dryer.

My eyes settled on the side of my backpack, and I stared at the Alexandria iron-on patch. A leftover from middle school, a reminder of better times. When Emma was my friend.

They had to stop. If they didn't... no. No. An alternative formed in my mind. They weren't going to stop.

I had to make them. And I knew exactly how to do it.

For one day, just one, I was going to be a hero.

I was going to dress up in costume, and I was going to make my bullies back off.

It was a crazy idea, I knew. One of the things parents made very clear, once you reached a certain age, was that bad things happened to little boys and girls who pretended to be capes.

At one point, costume dances had been the new fad of teenagers in the big cities. Dress up as a hero, go out to a nightclub, and enjoy the masquerade. Even better was the possibility you might bump into a real cape— after all, you could never really be certain who was real and who was pretending.

"Cape dances" didn't really happen anymore. Not after that big party in New York was hit by one of the local villain gangs. They hadn't been sure who was real and who was pretending, either. They hadn't particularly cared.

Incidents like that had continued for a few years, but they'd tapered off as people got the message. By the time I was growing up it was pretty obvious. You could dress up on Halloween, or while you were very young, but as soon as someone might think you were _actually_ a cape? That's when you stopped.

So I was well aware that what I was doing was borderline suicidal, but it also made my plan a little easier. No one of my generation would fake being a cape— they knew that wearing a costume was like wearing gang colors, and if you didn't belong then you deserved what you got.

Even still, there were complications. It wasn't enough to buy a one piece swimsuit and a cheap Halloween mask. I had to look authentic. Worse, my costume would _also_ have to be a disguise capable of fooling girls who had made it their personal mission for almost two years to torment me. And Emma had known me far longer than that.

That meant everything had to change. My voice, my hair, my stature, even my mannerisms. I couldn't afford to make any mistakes.

As if that wasn't enough, there was the biggest complication. No matter how good my disguise, I couldn't just show up out of nowhere and expect to garner any fear or respect. It wasn't going to be enough to look like a hero. I had to _be_ a hero.

All the thinking I'd done on that problem had narrowed things down to two solutions.

Option one was that I could go out and fight crime for a few nights, targeting regular gang members and risking my life every time, until I'd built up enough reputation as an independent hero that my bullies would pay attention when told to stop.

That option wasn't just dangerous- it was pretty much guaranteed to get me killed. It might have been possible if I'd woken up one day with superpowers, but I'd done some research and I'm pretty certain that if I was ever going to trigger, the locker would have been reason enough.

I'd almost have been willing to try, anyways, if it weren't for one thing. Even if I did manage to survive the first few fights I'd need to build up my reputation, and I got Emma and friends to back off... it still wouldn't be enough. I'd have to keep fighting, keep being a hero, otherwise I'd be right back where I'd started. Without my cape self around as a persistent reminder the threat would wear off— they'd figure I'd died, or moved away, and I'd be right back where I started.

I spent the next week enduring the torment as best I could, trying not to sink into despair, before I finally struck upon option two.

I didn't actually have to fight gangs and die a pointless death bleeding in an alley somewhere while trying to build up reputation. If I was going to pretend I was a cape, why not pretend to be a specific cape? Capes like Alexandria and Miss Militia instantly garnered respect, and I was certain that if one of _those_ heroes spoke up in my defense, my bullies would have to stop.

Unfortunately, that plan wasn't without problems either. A big name cape like Alexandria would garner respect, certainly, but it would also gather attention.

Even if I could pull off a disguise that would make my rail-thin teenaged self match Alexandria's distinguished frame (something I was by no means confident of), a visit from a member of the Triumvirate would be suspicious. Even if I was careful to approach my bullies alone... no. Just no.

I didn't have flight, or super strength, so it was unlikely they'd believe my disguise. And if by some miracle they did, I'd be even more screwed, because there was no way Emma and Sophia wouldn't talk about meeting "me". If I was unlucky, and they managed to snap a photo or something? Someone would come to investigate an Alexandria sighting, especially one she wasn't actually present for.

Dressing as Miss Militia was more viable in a lot of ways, not least of which that she had an actual reason to be here, and her powers were considerably easier to fake. A knife, a carefully painted squirt gun, and a little flash of light— if I did it right, I could probably pull it off. But it was problematic for much the same reasons as Alexandria was, and Miss Militia tended to use her power frequently. Videos and interviews tended to show that green flash of her weapon changing several times a minute, almost subconscious. I was pretty sure I could fake it once, but more than that? And again, like Alexandria, Miss Militia was older. No.

The best bet would be someone my own age, someone who had a reason to be seen in Brockton Bay. That basically meant one of the Wards or New Wave, unless I was willing to spread out into villaindom (I wasn't). I'd also need someone who had an easy to fake ability, preferably one that I would only need to demonstrate once.

Glory Girl might have been a good match, but everyone who knew of her spoke of her aura- I couldn't think of a way to fake that.

Panacea was better, as I wouldn't really need to fake her power, but she didn't patrol and I couldn't think of a reason she might happen to be nearby. I was also worried that the famed pacifist wouldn't be enough of a threat.

Laserdream and Shielder, the other two teens in New Wave, might have worked... but I eventually discarded the idea. New Wave didn't have secret identities, and so was approachable in a way that the wards weren't. I wouldn't put it past Emma to try to fake penitence as a way to get an in with them and somehow bolster her own popularity.

Other wards were crossed off for various reasons: Vista's power was impossible to fake, and she was a fair bit shorter than I was. Clockblocker's power was less flashy, and I could probably intimidate my bullies without having to demonstrate it, but I didn't even know where to start on building an animated costume. Aegis might have worked, but he was much too tall and muscular, and I was a bit wary about disguising myself as the wrong gender, especially considering all those muscles.

Someone like Kid Win would be perfect. He was about my size, the outfit would be concealing, and his gear changed often enough that any reasonable approximation would pass as a new version. I wasn't confident I could fake that much tinker-tech, and even getting smooth metallic plates shaped right would be difficult... but it had advantages.

If I _did_ manage to put together an armor, even just an LED-strewn version of what a medieval knight might wear, it would provide protection. I was still afraid of being caught up in a cape fight by mistake, because there was no way I could handle the kind of trouble an actual ward could. I'd feel a lot more comfortable if I were wearing armor.

That's what led me to settle upon the obvious choice. A ward, my age, with an easily faked power, and some form of protection in case I needed to get out of a fight? Shadow Stalker was about my size, though I'd have to fill out my disguise with padding in a few places. She wore body armor and carried a crossbow, which would provide more than enough dissuasion in the case of an actual fight... and with luck a few smoke pellets plus some quick thinking might let me fake her ability in a pinch.

It wouldn't be perfect, but if I practiced some sleight of hand I could probably do a fairly convincing approximation, and the smoke pellets would help me make a quick getaway in case something went really wrong.

So that was the plan, but I wasn't going to rush things. It'd take time to put together a costume, time to learn to realistically fake her power, and time to study her mannerisms. I was going to be as careful as possible; I wouldn't feel ready until I thought I could fool one of her fellow wards, at least from a distance.

I had a lot of practice ahead of me, but just having a plan made me feel much better. I could put up with Emma and Sophia's renewed bullying campaign, because I had a goal, an endgame to look forward to. I'd convince them to stop soon. It was only a matter of time.


	2. Chapter 2

It shouldn't come as any big surprise that my plan, my way out of torment, became something of an obsession. It kept me going when Sophia knocked into me in the halls, when Madison sabotaged my schoolwork, and when Emma used every last broken remnant of our former friendship against me.

As the hurts mounted, it was my plan that kept me stable: I could bear the school days because I had a goal to work towards. In short, I clung to my plan like it was all that was keeping me from drowning- which wasn't that far from the truth.

The first thing I did when I'd get home was start working, doing research, recording facts and ideas in a notebook I kept hidden inside my bedroom's heating vent. Even as careful as I was at hiding the notebook, though, I worried nearly constantly that someone would find out and end the whole thing.

The best scenario would be my father finding it, and even then I don't think I could deal with his incredulity, his concern, and his frustration at being unable to help. The worst case would be if someone, like Emma, somehow got a hold of my writing. I didn't even want to consider that.

So, of course, my quickly developing paranoia led to more research.

I read some old spy novels and did some poking around on the internet, and the solution I settled on was to develop a pretty simple cipher. I'd write in ink, and let the pen rest just a little bit longer at random points, using the number of blots and what letters they were on to encode what I was actually trying to write.

It took what felt like forever to transcribe my journal to the new code, but was actually merely a week, at the end of which I carefully burned the original in the back yard. Along the way I got really good at writing two things at once.

Developing the code was a major win, though, as I quickly realized that I could work on my ideas at school. I didn't do it much, because I was very well aware that the school grounds were enemy territory... but I was fairly confident that my tormentors were unlikely to figure things out.

There was a scare a few weeks in, when Madison casually rummaged through my backpack before the teacher arrived in homeroom, but thankfully all she took was homework. That one, tense moment however helped me develop my other line of defense, which was soon thereafter put to the test.

"Oh, Taylor, it's so good to see you again!" Emma smiled maliciously at me in the hallway. Everyone had dispersed for lunch, but the trio had caught me before I could find somewhere safe to eat.

"Like, we know you've been down," added Madison, sickeningly sweet, "and we just thought we'd do something to cheer you up!"

"That's why we decided that what you need to stop moping and looking all dumpy is a sign that your friends care about you." Emma nodded.

"You do have friends, right? I mean, we talk to you. And there's..." Madison paused, faking confusion. "Well, I guess you have us."

"Oh, you look upset!" Emma cooed, obviously enjoying the pain she could see in my eyes. "What you need is a hug."

That's when Sophia grabbed me. It was most definitely not a hug. I felt panicked and helpless, but the last thing I wanted to do was to struggle.

The other two quickly approached, and while making overtures of friendship casually went through my bag. The day's biology homework was soon shredded into confetti, before Emma found the papers I'd hidden as obviously as possible.

"What's this?" Emma crowed, unfolding the notes. "Oh, look what she's written!" The other two quickly dropped character and joined her side. I tensed, ready for what was to come.

"'I hate my life, I wish they'd just stop.'" Madison read. "Awww, Taylor. That hurts my feelings." She pantomimed tears.

These were my thoughts, my feelings laid bare on paper. How I felt. I'd armed them with this weapon, given them something to hurt me with, because I knew that it'd keep them from looking deeper. I was ready for it to hurt. I stood there as they read out bits of my anguish, my depression, my pain, and I was surprised. I'd given them this. It hurt, yeah, but... not as much.

"'I don't understand why she hates me now. I don't understand.'" Emma quoted. Any other time, hearing her mockingly repeat my inner thoughts like that would have destroyed me. As it was, it merely stung.

"Shouldn't that be obvious, Hebert?" Sophia drawled. "It's because you're weak, you're trash. We can't stand to look at you. We can't stand to have you near us." She moved her hand down, pointed to one line at the end of the page. "But look, every once in awhile you have a good idea. Why don't you go do that?"

The other two read where she was pointing and laughed. Emma dropped the paper, letting it settle on the floor as they walked off.

Hunched in on myself, with hot tears at the edges of my eyes, I picked it up and looked over the last line, read it carefully again. I made a strangled sound that could have been mistaken for a sob. In reality, I was trying not to hysterically laugh.

At the very bottom of the page, the page I'd spilled my soul onto, were four words. 'I should just die.'

I cut off another chuckle, bubbling up from somewhere in my chest. "A good idea", she'd said. "Why don't you go do that."

Hidden within those four words was another sentence, written in code: 'This will work.'

I wrestled my emotions under control, though I couldn't quite stop grinning. They took what I gave them. They didn't even notice the code. This will work. This will work.

After that day I settled to work in earnest: what had been mere obsession turned all-consuming. I started an insane exercise routine, jogged daily, lifted weights, did everything I could to be as fit as possible. I did chores around the neighborhood, took up babysitting, and earned as much funds as I could.

I threw myself into my plans in a way I hadn't before, for fear of dad's attention, but when he asked about things I just turned his worries aside.

"I'm just trying to be productive," I'd say. Or, "It's something to keep my mind off things." His concern was obvious, but I let him know that this was my way of coping, and he let it be.

Eventually the two of us settled into a new routine, one that left me more independent but with less time spent together. I could tell that the distance was difficult for dad, and I didn't really like it either, but I consoled myself with the fact that in the end it would all be worth it.

Assembling a copy of Shadow Stalker's costume took some doing. While it wouldn't be too difficult to put together something similar to what she'd worn as a vigilante, now that she was an official ward (with the associated monetary backing), buying the things needed to make a duplicate costume took a serious chunk of my savings.

It took careful planning and a lot of catalog combing to get it all together, but eventually the day came.

My paranoia knew no bounds— the individual pieces were waiting for me, each at different store, spread out in various nearby towns I'd visited by bus. I had ordered everything on reserve, told them to hold it all until the weekend, and then spent one long day traveling hither and yon to collect them.

The hardest part had been the mask, but eventually I'd settled on a solution that involved carefully sculpting an imitation out of modeling clay and then painting it to match the real thing— a stern faced woman. I'd adhered the result to a hockey mask, and it sat securely on my face.

When everything was done I'd looked at myself in the mirror. Once I was completely suited up, all of Taylor Hebert covered by Shadow Stalker, it felt amazing. I was strong, powerful, confident like the ward herself. I moved around my room with a predatory grace, my hard earned muscles coiled, and felt ready.

I looked like a hero. And I felt like one.

Speaking like one was going to be a little more difficult. It turned out that Shadow Stalker was one of the dark, silent kinds of heroes. She'd spoken on camera, but only tersely. Her image was one meant to strike fear into the hearts of criminals, and if it didn't always succeed, it was only her age to blame. A few years on, once she graduated to the Protectorate, I was certain that she'd have no problems.

Still, even given the lack of material, I studied what I could. I devoured every bit of video I could, from cell phone captures of ward action in town to corny interviews on the morning talk show. Shadow Stalker sightings weren't exactly rare, but moments when she'd speak more than a few words were. Other wards, more easygoing, had had much more screen time, and in the process I got to know them all just a little bit.

I'd always been somewhat of a cape geek, but now, wearing a costume, I felt closer to them than ever. For just a moment I could close my eyes and pretend that this was me, that I'd triggered with parahuman powers, that I'd been transferred away from my tormentors at Winston High and into Arcadia. That I was one of them, and we were friends.

Of course, I wasn't. I didn't have powers, I'd never triggered, and that wasn't going to change... but my personal situation was. Not having powers meant the easy way was out, so I'd just have to do things the hard way. My way.

The final plan I put together relied on awe, intimidation, and misdirection. A large portion of my prep time had been put into studying stage magic and practicing sleight of hand, so that I could convincingly fake the powers I'd need.

Stage magic was all about controlling an audience's attention, managing their thoughts and expectations in ways that tricked them into believing your act. That was part of the reason why the costume was so important, why I'd spent money for the realest body armor I could afford, because if I could convince them of who I was at the start, their own expectations would make them believe what followed.

Expectations helped me in other ways— my audience expected Taylor Hebert to act in certain ways, had grown accustomed to me defenseless and fearful. The outrageous nature of my "trick" was as much a protection of my identity as anything else.

The study I'd done of stage magic led to props, and a further draining of my savings. More time passed as I familiarized myself with the tools I'd be using.

The final prop was the crossbow, which I'd sourced from a hunting store an hour south of Brockton Bay. I'd taken lessons there, learning to load and shoot the bow, and while my accuracy wasn't bulls-eye perfect, I was good enough that I didn't have to worry about hurting myself or others with the thing.

Eventually, all my preparation felt like I was just putting things off. I was as ready as I'd every be, and spurred into motion by a particularly hard day, I finally set things into motion.

Today was showtime.

I'd laid my trap just after sunrise, as part of my morning jog, staging the area so that things would be ready when I needed them, then headed home and showered.

Going through classes that day was difficult. I felt a mounting sense of excitement, of anticipation, as the day dragged slowly towards the big moment. I also felt pressure, as the stress of avoiding my tormentors took its toll— I couldn't have them catch me before school ended. They had to feel thwarted, eager for victory.

Finally, after what felt forever, it was time for Act I.

Act I had seemed like the easy bit when I'd first come up with it. The plan was to instigate an act of bullying, which wasn't particularly hard.

The hard part was going to be controlling my audience, getting them to play their unwitting part. I had to act in just the right way, so that Emma, Sophia, and Madison would react in just the right way. I'd need to use all the experience, from two years of torment, to control every aspect of what the three did.

The first bit was easy. I shouldered my bag as soon as the bell rang and quickly made my way to the door, carefully keeping my stare forward. When I reached the door I stopped for the briefest instant, put on the perfect fearful look, like a frightened rabbit, and glanced back at Emma and Sophia. Then I bolted.

Every movement, carefully designed to result in one reaction. They were the hunters. I was the prey. So they chased me.

I'd led them to the gym where I cowered, pathetically, among the folded up mats. I'd planned this spot in advance, tested it from all angles, and knew that from the doorway I'd be absolutely out of sight. Two steps into the gym, however, and with my foot positioned just so...

"Where the hell is she?" I heard Emma ask in the hall. "I know she went this way."

"She thinks she can hide from us," Sophia answered. "But there's no way out here. You and Madds check the classrooms, I'll take the gym." She sounded so comfortable giving commands.

She entered the gym. One step. Two. A shout, "She's over here!" and the girls came running.

I stood up, my bag clutched protectively in my arms. "Please," I begged. "Please, don't take it. You already ruined the flute, not this."

"Show it to us." Emma demanded.

I quailed, my shoulders starting to shake. Despite myself, tears started to fall. I didn't want to do this. If something went wrong, I didn't want to lose this. I didn't want them to ruin it.

I took a deep breath, reached into my pack, and pulled out a necklace. It wasn't particularly valuable, at least in itself, but it's one I knew Emma would recognize. It was one of mom's.

"Please, not this." I begged again, knowing they'd do the opposite of what I said. Now to drive it home. "I just wanted something of hers near me today, please. Don't take this from me."

Madison almost looked sympathetic, but a look towards the other two had her taking cues from their reaction. I was glad— if they'd somehow decided to be merciful today, everything would be for naught.

I'd been nervous about striking the right balance, worried that Madison could speak up, or Sophia might stalk off with a look of disgust and a muttered "Pathetic." Emma I didn't worry about. If I didn't truly know Emma after years of friendship, had never expected her betrayal, I was confident I knew her now. She didn't disappoint.

"Oh, I think I will be taking that," Emma stepped forward and ripped the necklace from my hands. "But don't worry- I think I'll wear it around school, so you can still see it."

I collapsed, letting the stress, the tears, the worries all push me down to the ground. There. I'd given them their victory. They had no need to stick around, so they would leave.

"It's only right that I should have it," Emma called over her shoulder maliciously. "Your mom liked me better. I'm not a disappointment like you."

And then they left. Intermission. I took a moment to compose myself, wiped off my face, and stretched. Then I headed to the back of the gym, into the storage area, and to a carefully hidden duffel bag. I dressed in costume, then headed out the side door.

There's a reason Sophia had said "there's no way out" earlier; this door was usually kept locked, only used by the staff when they needed access to soccer balls and other outdoor sports supplies. I'd volunteered to help our gym teacher, Mrs Magnolia, clean up after gym the day before, and had very stealthily taped over the place where the lock would normally latch.

The door slid open without a hitch, I removed the tape, and got into place for Act II.

The area I was in was technically still school grounds, a narrow alley between the gym and one of the adjacent buildings. The side door from the gym opened around the corner, with easy access to the playing field, but out here I was right by the path I knew the trio would take to head home.

I got everything into place, then settled to wait. It wasn't long.

"Did you see her face?" I heard Madison's voice, nearby. "All splotchy and red! Like, ugh, she looked like a baby!" I took a deep breath, readying myself.

"That's what she is. A crybaby." Sophia affirmed, closer. That was my cue.

I stepped out, and the three stepped back in shock.

"I've been following you," I growled, distorting my voice to the threatening timbre that Shadow Stalker sometimes used. "I've been listening to you talk."

I swiftly reached towards a nearby electrical box, crushing a small smoke pellet in my hands.

I knew with the slight trail of dark smoke streaming from my hand, and the angle they were watching, it looked as if I had reached inside the box, rather than beside it. I pulled the crossbow into sight.

"You're going to stop what you've been doing." I said. "Now." Then I fired a specially prepared bolt at the ground. It too trailed dark smoke, and stopped once it was halfway embedded in the soft earth. Emma and Madison jumped back.

Sophia, however, snapped out of her shock. "The fuck is this?" She demanded.

I stopped. This wasn't in the script. What? She couldn't seriously be that rude, could—

"You think you can threaten me like this?" Sophia stepped forward aggressively. "You think you can threaten my friends?"

She's talking to me like this? In this costume I was a Ward! What the hell?

"You think some dumb stranger power is going to scare me? That you can just waltz in and make me stop fighting crime because you know who I am? FUCK YOU!"

The shout made me startle, as everything fell into place. The way Sophia was moving right now was horribly familiar. I'd watched Shadow Stalker move the same way hundreds of times before. Oh god. I'd made a terrible mistake.

"There are rules," Sophia snarled. "And you just broke the fuck out of them. You're going to beg for the birdcage." Then she lunged for me.

I turned and ran, my mind in a haze, only vaguely aware enough to be thankful for the exercise I'd been doing. I ran harder, and faster, then I'd ever run before.

Sophia didn't bother to follow.


End file.
